


This Is It

by CastielAsstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Diary/Journal, Drunk Dean Winchester, Gen, Guilt, Implications of suicide, Mild descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielAsstiel/pseuds/CastielAsstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" Although Dean was already on the brink of a drunken haze, he picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey, which was conveniently sitting on his bedside table, and took a long swig, enjoying the rush of alcohol pumping through his veins." </p><p>Dean always found refuge in expressing his innermost feelings in his diary. However, this time may be his last chance to do so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is It

Dean took out his old, leather-bound diary - filled with loose papers, notes and photographs of his family - from under his pillow. He has had it ever since he was an adolescent, a particularly difficult period for him as it was the time in his life when he began craving an escape from the nightmare his father forced him to live through every single day. Although Dean was already on the brink of a drunken haze, he picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey, which was conveniently sitting on his bedside table, and took a long swig, enjoying the rush of alcohol pumping through his veins. 

He then made his way through the bunker and into the library, where he sat down at the table. After placing his diary and bottle of whiskey in front of him, Dean proceeded to lift up the books and files littering the desk, in search for a pen. For the past month he had been desperately looking for an answer, a way to make everything okay again. He left no stone unturned (or in this case, no book, file or webpage unread) in his frantic quest. A few days ago, that idea was abandoned. 

Not too long after sitting down, he managed to find a working pen. With trembling hands, he began writing. 

_'21.04.2015_

_Dear Diary,_

_This is it._

_I don't know how much longer I can do this; the only people in this filthy, cruel world that I cared about are all gone. Gone._

_It's been a month since I last wrote to you. It's also been a month since-'_  He took in a deep, shaky breath to regain his composure, before continuing.  _'-their death. In that time, I was busy trying to find a way to bring them back, so I didn't get a chance to tell you about this._  


_This is beyond anything we-'_  Dean stared at the word he last wrote, blinking away the moisture which threatened to spill from his eyes. After a few seconds, he crossed the word out, and replaced it.  _'-I have had to go through. There is no 'we', not any more. Not after what happened last month.'_  


Dean set his pen down in the middle of the pages and ran a hand over his face. The emptiness he felt soon took over and he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. He felt no shame for expressing his feelings like this. After all, there was no one left to care, no one to humiliate him for being so weak. 

It took Dean a while longer than usual to calm down enough to pick up the black, ballpoint pen and start writing again. 

_'At first, it seemed like a normal hunt. Just a nest of vamps. Sam and I could always handle some vampires alone, so with Cas (who had started hunting with us ever since he lost his angelic powers), it should have been as easy as pie, right? Wrong._  


_We underestimated them. In the nest we attacked, there were about 15 vamps. Honestly, that wouldn't be too difficult, five to kill each. It started off just fine, we each entered through different doors and killed the vamps guarding them._

_It all went downhill after that. At least one must have escaped and let two nests nearby know that they were under attack, so they made their way over to where we were trying to defeat them. As soon as they barged in, we knew we had no chance. It all happened so quickly; Cas was-'_  Dean closed his eyes and let his breathing steady before scribbling down exactly what happened.  _'-basically ripped apart within moments. And Sam-'_  


This time, Dean needed slightly longer to calm himself down enough to make his handwriting intelligible.  _'-was bitten. Those sons of bitches bit my brother and tried to make him live like a monster - like them. All this time I was trying to fight them off._  


_I don't know how I managed to get out with only a few broken bones, but I did. And as soon as I did, I realized Sam and Cas were still inside. I threw myself back into the old building in time to have Sam shoved into me. He pushed me back, away from the nest. As he did that, I caught a glimpse of my best friend's body,-'_  Shuddering at the thought, Dean grabbed the almost empty bottle of whiskey and took a long drink from it to numb his feelings further. 

_'-strewn all over the fucking floor. I tried to get back in and fight them, believe me, I did, but Sam held me back. "I don't want you to get hurt, Dean," he said. Like seeing Cas dead didn't hurt._

_Do you want to know how I know what they did to Sam? After we got back to the grimy motel room we were staying in, he told me that they bit him, then took him into a room at the back of the building and forced him to drink human blood. Obviously, that meant there was no way for me to save him. The cure only works if the person hasn't tasted another person's blood after being bitten. Do you know what he did after he realised that? Sam begged me to kill him. He didn't want to be a monster; he didn't want to kill people.'_

Dean picked up a deserted beer bottle and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, shards of glass falling to the floor underneath it. Not caring enough to muffle his crying, he let his tears fall down his face and stain the pages of his diary. 

_'When he first said that, I yelled at him, told him I'd never kill him. But then he started crying. "I'm going to hurt people, kill innocent people, Dean! I'll hurt you, I can't live with that. We don't both have to die because of this. You need to live, continue saving people, hunting things," he said. Sam then shoved a machete into my hands. At this point we were both crying. My hands trembled around the blade - I couldn't do it. I dropped it and threw my arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. We stayed like that, holding onto each other for almost 10 minutes, before he finally convinced me to do it.'_  


During the time it took Dean to write the previous paragraph, he managed to finish the remains of the whiskey in the bottle he had near him, and find another one. An additional thing he found was his gun. 

The month that Dean spent alone was filled with nothing but suffering, alcohol and tears - every day almost identical to the last. Most nights he'd lie awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling and cursing himself for not thinking their hunt through thoroughly enough. If only he could go back in time and change his brother and best friend's demise... He'd give anything to be the one who was turned, or killed, instead of them. 

He placed his gun on the table, next to his diary - the metal cold to the touch. His gaze was fixed on it; he took in every millimetre of the beautiful, yet deadly item. When he finally managed to tear his puffy, glassy eyes away from it, he turned to his open diary. 

_'I picked up the machete and - after telling Sam how much I loved him and how sorry I was, to which he replied that I was doing him a favour, that it was all going to be okay - I killed him. I decapitated my own baby brother. I will never forgive myself for this. It should have been me, not him, not them! Why didn't I help Cas? Why didn't I help Sam? Why did I kill my fucking brother? Questions like these have been haunting me for the past month. I couldn't eat, sleep and I could barely breathe._

_I did the unthinkable, the worst crime I have ever committed in my life. Killing Sammy was fucking crazy! Even though he convinced me at the time, how could I have ever believed that it was a good idea? I hate myself for this. I can't stand the thought of living with my baby brother's blood on my hands.'_

Dean picked up the bottle with quivering hands and gulped the oaky, almost warm liquid down. He then turned to his gun and stared at it again. After taking it in his hand, turning it over once or twice and briefly examining it, he set it down for long enough to finish his diary entry. 

_'Sam and Cas are dead, now it's my turn._

_This is it.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to suggest any tags which you believe I should have included, thank you!


End file.
